Romulus stirred at the first light of dawn, the pale glow filtering through the high, narrow windows of the imperial chamber. The faint chirping of birds echoed through the quiet corridors of the palace, mingling with the faint scent of oil lamps burning low. He blinked, his young face still soft with sleep, before sitting up in the heavy, gilded bed that seemed to dwarf him.
Aulus, a quiet and efficient personal slave who had served the imperial household for years, entered the chamber as though summoned by instinct. “Good morning, Caesar,” he said with a bow, his voice low so as not to startle the boy. He carried a basin of warmed water and a linen towel, setting them on a small side table.
Romulus yawned, rubbing his eyes as Aulus approached. “Good morning,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.
The day began as it always did. Aulus helped him wash his face and hands with the warm water, the linen towel soft against his skin. The slave then laid out his garments: a tunic of fine wool dyed imperial purple, cinched with a golden belt, and a lighter cloak for the spring chill. Though still a boy, his attire reflected his station, every detail designed to remind others of his authority—even if, at times, Romulus needed reminding himself.
As he dressed, another slave entered, this one carrying a small platter of bread, honey, and watered wine for his morning meal. Romulus ate sparingly, as was customary. He tore off a piece of bread, dipping it into the honey while his mind wandered. The scent of the beeswax in the honey, faintly sweet and floral, reminded him of simpler days in Ravenna before the weight of the crown had fallen on his young shoulders.
Once dressed, he left his chamber, his small entourage trailing behind. His first task was the daily prayer at the palace chapel, a modest room adorned with mosaics of saints and apostles. Romulus knelt, the cool marble pressing against his knees as the priest led a brief invocation for wisdom and strength. The boy emperor, though young, mimicked the solemnity of his elders, his hands clasped and his brow furrowed as he silently recited the words he had been taught.
From there, the morning unfolded with structured precision. His tutors awaited him in the library—a grand hall filled with scrolls and codices, the scent of parchment and ink thick in the air. Andronikos, his most trusted advisor, greeted him with a warm smile. Today’s lessons were on Roman law and the histories of great emperors, stories that often captivated Romulus despite their dry delivery.
As the lessons began, Andronikos subtly slipped a reference to the day. “Did you know, Caesar, that Emperor Augustus himself celebrated his natal day with solemn reflection? A reminder of the responsibility borne by those chosen to lead Rome.”
Romulus nodded, though his young mind wandered. The subtle acknowledgment of his birthday warmed him, even if the weight of expectation did not. Andronikos moved on quickly, perhaps sensing the boy’s fleeting distraction, his voice steady as he recounted Augustus’s reforms.
Romulus remained seated at the polished wooden table, the sound of Andronikos’s voice droning on in the background. His tutor was meticulously explaining a decree issued by Emperor Trajan, its significance lost in the monotony of the lesson. Romulus shifted slightly in his seat, careful to keep his posture straight—he knew Andronikos would notice if he slouched.
The morning stretched on, the weight of routine settling over him. As the clock marked the passing hours, Andronikos finally set aside the scroll. “That will be sufficient for now, Caesar,” he said with a respectful nod. “Tomorrow, we shall continue with the reforms of Constantine. For now, attend to your remaining tasks.”
Romulus stood, his small entourage gathering as he left the library. Today, the grand audience chamber remained empty. No petitioners, no formal declarations—only silence. This, he overheard a servant whisper, was because it was his birthday. But no one had spoken of celebrations or festivities, not directly. The day felt much like any other.
He moved on to his midday routine. Aulus escorted him to the gardens, where a small, private courtyard offered a reprieve from the confines of the palace. The crisp air carried the scent of early spring blossoms, and the sound of a fountain trickling nearby offered a brief respite from the monotony. Romulus sat at a stone bench, nibbling on a piece of dried fruit brought by a servant.
“Would you like to play, Caesar?” Aulus asked softly, gesturing to a wooden ball resting nearby.
Romulus considered it for a moment but shook his head. “No, thank you,” he replied. The ball remained untouched as he stared at the carved patterns on the stone bench, tracing them absentmindedly with his fingers.
By the time the sun reached its zenith, he returned indoors for another session with Andronikos. This time, the subject was rhetoric. Romulus recited lines from Cicero’s speeches, his young voice faltering occasionally as he stumbled over unfamiliar phrases. Andronikos corrected him patiently, though his tone suggested mild disappointment.
The lesson concluded, and Romulus found himself at the dining table for a modest midday meal. It was simple fare—bread, a bit of cheese, and watered wine. His attendants hovered nearby, ready to clear the table at the slightest gesture.
The afternoon brought another round of lessons—this time, arithmetic and practical governance. Andronikos set small wax tablets before him, etched with numbers and scenarios requiring careful calculations. Romulus worked silently, his brow furrowed in concentration, though the effort soon began to blur into the same tedium that filled the rest of the day.
By the late afternoon, Romulus found himself back in the chapel for vespers. The flickering light of candles illuminated the mosaics as the priest led a quiet prayer for the empire’s continued strength. Romulus knelt, his knees aching slightly against the hard marble. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the words, though his mind wandered again.
The sun was beginning to set when he returned to his chamber. Aulus was waiting, helping him change into more comfortable attire for the evening. “A small gathering has been arranged in your honor, Caesar,” the slave said quietly as he adjusted the folds of Romulus’s tunic.
Romulus blinked, surprised, as the words sunk in. “A gathering?” he asked, his voice barely above a murmur.
“Yes, Caesar,” Aulus replied with a slight bow. “Your most trusted companions await you. It is a humble celebration, but one arranged with great care.”
Romulus nodded slowly, the weight of the day’s monotony lifting ever so slightly. “Lead the way,” he said, his voice quiet but tinged with curiosity.
Aulus guided him through the quiet halls of the palace. The faint sound of distant conversation reached Romulus’s ears as they approached a small, private dining chamber. The heavy door opened smoothly, and the room beyond was warmly lit by oil lamps and flickering candles. The scents of roasted meat and spiced wine hung in the air, mingling with the faint perfume of freshly cut flowers placed in modest arrangements around the space.
Inside stood the small group that made up Romulus’s closest circle. Gaius’s wife, Lavinia, greeted him first with a warm smile, her presence radiating quiet grace. Her sons, Lucan and Marcus, were by her side, their faces lighting up as they saw the young emperor. Magnus, the stoic head of Romulus’s personal guard, stood off to the side, his towering frame and ever-watchful gaze a familiar comfort. Andronikos, the Greek scholar, was there as well, his thoughtful expression softening as Romulus entered.
The group bowed or inclined their heads as the emperor stepped inside. “Happy birthday, Caesar,” Lavinia said gently, her voice maternal yet respectful.
Romulus offered a shy smile, his hands clasped in front of him. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice quiet.
The small banquet was simple but heartfelt. A table set with dishes of roasted lamb, honey-glazed fruits, and fresh bread awaited them, but before they ate, the present-giving began—a tradition rooted in Roman custom. Each gift was presented with care, and the atmosphere grew more intimate with every offering.
Andronikos stepped forward first, holding a finely bound codex. “A gift for a young emperor who values knowledge,” he said, placing it in Romulus’s hands. “A collection of writings on the great emperors of the past. May their wisdom guide you.”
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
Romulus ran his fingers over the leather binding, his chest tightening. “Thank you, Andronikos. It’s beautiful.”
Next came Magnus. The gruff but loyal captain of the guard knelt briefly before handing Romulus a dagger, its hilt engraved with the imperial crest. “A small token of my loyalty, Caesar,” he said. “May it remind you that there are those who will stand ready to defend you, always.”
Romulus’s fingers curled around the hilt, the weight of it surprisingly comforting. “Thank you, Magnus,” he said, his voice softer now.
Lavinia stepped forward next, her hands holding a simple but elegant cloak. “For the coming months, when the air turns colder,” she said with a kind smile. “Hand-stitched with care.”
Romulus accepted it reverently, the soft fabric brushing against his hands. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
Finally, Lucan and Marcus approached, each holding a small wooden box. Marcus spoke first, his young voice brimming with excitement. “We made these ourselves, Caesar!” he said, opening his box to reveal a carved wooden figure of a horse.
“And this one,” Lucan added, opening his own box to show a matching figure of a soldier, “is to keep it company.”
Romulus’s composure cracked. The figures were rough-hewn, clearly the work of boys, but the care and effort that had gone into them were unmistakable. He clutched the boxes tightly, his chest heaving slightly as he tried to speak. “They’re… they’re wonderful,” he managed, his voice trembling.
A heavy silence fell over the room as Romulus’s eyes filled with tears. His young shoulders shook as he cried silently, clutching the gifts to his chest. For a moment, he was no longer the emperor of Rome but a ten-year-old boy overwhelmed by the kindness of those closest to him.
Lavinia stepped closer, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, Caesar,” she said softly. “We are here for you.”
Romulus nodded, unable to speak, his tears falling freely now. Lucan and Marcus exchanged worried glances before stepping forward, each placing a hand on his arm in silent support.
The room remained still, the warmth of the moment filling the space.
Lucan was the first to break the silence, his youthful energy bubbling through his concern. “Come on, Caesar,” he said with a grin, nudging Romulus gently. “You can’t just sit there. Let’s play! Marcus and I found the perfect spot in the garden earlier.”
Romulus sniffled, rubbing at his eyes quickly, and managed a small laugh. “All right,” he said, his voice still shaky but brighter. “But only if you stop calling me Caesar while we play. Just Romulus.”
The boys’ faces lit up at his words. “Deal!” Marcus said eagerly, grabbing Romulus’s hand and tugging him toward the door.
The trio rushed outside, leaving the solemnity of the room behind. In the twilight glow of the palace garden, they ran and played with the unrestrained joy of children. They kicked a ball back and forth across the grass, their laughter ringing out as Lucan’s overzealous kick sent the ball flying into a rose bush. Marcus dashed to retrieve it, his tunic snagging on a thorn as Romulus called out warnings between giggles.
Next, they raced along the stone paths, weaving between hedges and statues. Marcus tripped halfway through, rolling dramatically onto the grass with a groan. Romulus, barely able to suppress his laughter, reached down to help him up, his hands still clutching the wooden soldier Lucan had given him earlier.
Finally, they settled under a large olive tree, catching their breath. Marcus pulled a stick from the ground and began mock-dueling Lucan, while Romulus watched, his smile wide and genuine. For a while, he forgot the weight of the crown, the expectations, and the solemn lessons. Here, with Lucan and Marcus, he was just a boy.
As the sky deepened into evening, Lavinia’s voice called gently from the terrace. “Boys! It’s getting late.”
The three of them trotted back toward the palace, their energy spent but their spirits high. Lavinia waited by a bench near the fountain, her kind eyes watching them approach.
“Thank you,” Romulus said softly as he sat beside her, his face still flushed from play. “For bringing them here. For being here.”
Lavinia smiled, smoothing her gown as she turned to him. “It is our honor, Caesar,” she said, but her tone softened when she added, “and our joy.”
Romulus fiddled with the wooden soldier in his hands. “Do you… do you like living here? In the palace?” he asked, his voice hesitant.
Lavinia tilted her head thoughtfully. “It’s different from what we are used to,” she admitted. “But it feels safe, and it brings me peace to know the boys can be here with you.”
Romulus nodded, his expression earnest. “I’m glad. It feels less lonely with all of you here. They’re the only ones my age I can…” He trailed off, then smiled shyly. “That I can be myself with.”
Lavinia placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to carry everything alone, Caesar. You have people who care for you.”
Lavinia’s expression softened as she adjusted her seat beside Romulus. The warmth of the evening air lingered, but a faint breeze whispered through the garden, stirring the olive branches above them. She glanced at the wooden soldier in Romulus’s hands, her gaze lingering on the boy emperor’s quiet smile.
“Gaius wrote to me not long ago,” she began, her voice steady but gentle, as if carefully selecting her words. “His letter spoke of the journey. He mentioned the hills they’ve crossed, the cold wind off the sea, and how the stars remind him of home.”
Romulus turned his head toward her, listening intently. “Does he write often?”
“Whenever he can,” Lavinia replied. “Though I suspect he spares me the worst of it. He wants me to picture a steady march and calm evenings by the fire, not the struggles he faces.”
Romulus nodded, his expression thoughtful. “He’s protecting you, like he always does.”
Lavinia smiled faintly, her hands resting on her lap. “He wrote of a scuffle with Basiliscus’s men—not serious, he said.” She paused for a moment, her gaze drifting to the fountain before her. “But Gaius doesn’t write of skirmishes unless they weigh on him.”
Her voice softened, but her tone remained steady as she continued. “Still, he said his men are growing stronger every day. And he wrote of Silifke, of the markets and the gates—how Marcus would marvel at the carvings and Lucan would have endless questions about the river.” A brief smile flickered across her face, a mix of worry and pride. “He’s protecting us, in his own way.”
The boy emperor smiled at the thought of Gaius describing the gates and the markets, a father imagining his family amidst the chaos of a campaign. “He’ll come back soon,” Romulus said, his voice steady.
Romulus lingered in the hall after his conversation with Lavinia, his thoughts drifting between the distant concerns of war and the rare warmth of the evening. The flickering glow of oil lamps lit his path as he wandered toward Andronikos, who sat quietly, his gaze lost in the shadows dancing along the walls.
Romulus settled onto the bench beside the Greek scholar, his posture thoughtful yet relaxed. “At this time,” he began softly, his voice carrying a note of quiet reflection, “I’d usually be in my room… drawing.”
Andronikos turned toward him, his expression curious and kind. “Ideas for your inventions, no doubt?” he asked, his voice warm with familiarity.
Romulus nodded, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. “The crossbows, this time,” he admitted. “I think they could be… better. I made some sketches last night. They’re not detailed—just ideas for the overall shape. The mechanism is still…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “I know how it’s supposed to work, but I can’t figure out the exact details yet. I’ll need to talk to one of the craftsmen.”
Andronikos smiled, his eyes twinkling with understanding. “So you have the vision but not the precision,” he said lightly.
Romulus looked down at his hands, the faint traces of charcoal on his fingers serving as a reminder of his sketches. “I know how it’s supposed to work. I know what it’s supposed to look like. But…” He sighed. “The details—how to make it actually work—it’s like having half a map and not knowing where the rest of the roads go.”
He hesitated, glancing at Andronikos. “It’s frustrating, knowing something could be better but not knowing how to make it so.”
Andronikos placed a steady hand on Romulus’s shoulder. “That’s the burden of knowledge, Caesar,” he said gently. “But today is not about the tools of war or the burdens of leadership. Today is for you.”
Romulus blinked at the unexpected interruption. “Then why,” he retorted, his voice edged with playful indignation, “did you make me sit through lessons today?”
Andronikos’s deep chuckle filled the space, echoing softly off the walls. “Because, my young emperor,” he replied, his tone rich with humor, “learning is fun. Surely you didn’t find today’s lessons dull?”
Romulus tried to maintain a serious expression, but a grin broke through. “You mean the parts where you pretended not to notice me nodding off?” he teased.
Andronikos laughed louder, the sound genuine and warm. “I noticed, Caesar. But I also noticed how quickly you caught my deliberate mistakes in Cicero’s rhetoric. That was sharp of you.”
Romulus tilted his head, feigning suspicion. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? Just to see if I was paying attention.”
“Perhaps,” Andronikos replied, his smile widening. “And you passed my test.”
The two of them laughed together, the sound light and free, easing the heaviness that so often lingered in the palace halls.
When the laughter subsided, Romulus leaned back on the bench, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. “It’s nice to have a break,” he admitted after a moment. “I enjoy drawing… but sometimes, it feels like I’m chasing something I can’t quite catch.”
“That is the nature of ideas,” Andronikos said gently. “Even the greatest thinkers struggled with them. But your ideas will still be there tomorrow. For now, let yourself just enjoy the moment.”
Romulus smiled, the glow of the lamps catching the warmth in his face. Tonight, the drawings, the plans, and the burdens of the empire could wait.